"unwound" poems
We finally unwound
After hours in my bed
A thin film of your ego peeled off and clung to my skin
Asymptomatic…I wish
You spread through me like a wildfire
That burns with every breath.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
The cricket's rhythmic chivalry
slows to Autumn's droning crawl
like an unwound eight-day clock
unconsciously neglected by time
The Sounds of summer that fall silent
are never really noticed until gone
things we often take for granite,
a mistake rendering life benign
Dreams living only in our minds
beheld within, the love that keeps us alive
never caring, never needing to know,
"fifty ways to leave your lover" behind
So many miles spinning faster,
so much weight to weigh you down
it never really was a simpler time
just a window with a different view
Fleeting time may shine like shooting star
an irreverent kind of blinding light come to pass
a different hue of colours cast and sown
an eerie silence may befall unprovoked
As if you found an urgent message
in a bottle drifting through your tides
you can spend the rest a lifetime trying
to catch lightening in that bottle thence
Don't look away from a moment
too long ... in the blink of an eye
it'll all be gone
someone you used to know ... September 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
My neck noosed
My legs loosed
I witness the tragic
It seems so emphatic
I feel entropy
Enter me
Centering
Around love and pain
I wear gloves of shame
Toxicity taints touch
My reaction is to cautiously recoil
For I feel a great punch
When I expect them to be loyal
A tear rolls down my cheek
Navigating scars
Like a man who is meek
Navigating bars
It starts and stops
Then keeps going
The tears drop
From what I'm knowing
That my time is evaporating
Dealing with the exasperating
I feel I can be caring
I just need the chance
We'll see how I'm fairing
On the end of your lance
Penetrating deeply
The pain is unceasing
Like a thousand bee stings
While you stand there feasting
Making me feel alive
From the pain inside
I guess things could always be worse
Sometimes that feels like a curse
Because I have problems all the same
But it's true
The sum of our troubles equal this game
That we lose
Even though I'd rather deal with *** and silence
Than to be vexed by violence
They're all just ways of imposing our will
Whether it's through who we birth or ****
Conflict is how we get our fill
Every day a different fire drill
We hate each other
We date each other
We underrate each other
To deflate each other
Pain is used as a tool
Until blood lays in a pool
These things that annoy us
Are met by avoidance
These things compound
Until I can't be unwound
I live in a world of contending intentions
It's a world of our own selfish invention
A world that burns bright
So I can't sleep
When day turns to night
I hear death creep
Seeking to take me from a life I never asked for
But I'm grateful to have
Life is about experimenting with opening doors
And I'm stuck in the lab
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 9:22 PM UTC
Where did the shyness go?
I remember
hiding under
women's skirts
red
faced
counting freckles staring
as the universe unwound
gazing
at the birth of stars
and the aura
left.
now
I stare down.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
I stand here
Open, with every thread of security within me unwound
The bitter words upon my tongue have been swallowed
Rendering a vacant mouth dry
With all the world ready to spill from me
With every tear contained within
I gaze at you in silence
(So is that alright?
Take it from me, rip it from my feeble fingers
Don't steal it, don't take it for yourself
You've "lived a charmed life,"
haven't you?
Don't lie to me, don't uproot the little truth
that I seem to know
Skirt chaser, ******* womanizer
Great to know that I was only points to score
in the game you play
So is that alright?)
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
one strike of that blackened match
and a million chromatic threads unwound
leaving only an ashen husk,
my timeless vessel
Jan 24, 2023
Jan 24, 2023 at 10:49 AM UTC
The 7 wonders of the world
Is quite a sight to see
But it don't compare to what we have
In the hills of Tennessee
Uncle Zebs cow is a big ole thing
Quite a sight to behold
That cow's so big that when they milk her
Her udders even have to unfold
Cousin Zeke has a six-legged mule
And man that thing is fast
One time he raced a bobcat
And the bobcat finished last
My granny's teeth are made of wood
Of course, they were bought from a store
But ever since that termite season
She don't use them much no more
Aunt Imojean has a twine collection
That she started when she was three
I guess if we unwound that thing
It'd reach clear 'cross Tennessee
Cousin Jake has a rattlesnake
He pickled and stuffed in a jar
He caught that thing a year ago
Trying to run off with his car
Uncle Randolph has this chicken
Who howls and barks at the moon
That poor chicken is so dadgum old
That she has to be fed with a spoon
Uncle Sam has the seventh wonder
An invisible moonshine still
We ain't seen it since he made it
But it's somewhere on that hill
So, after you think you've seen it all
You haven't seen anything yet
Come to the hills of Tennessee
And see things you'll never forget
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 9:07 PM UTC
*The box remained shut.
His fingers probe but with invisible eyes.
Finding the clasp that had forgotten the last time.
With the lid pried open,
the dancer would soon arise.
•••••
As expected, she rose...
Accompanied by a tune, truly a haunting sound.
She slid and pirouetted.
She fulfilled the promise to which she was bound.
Her routine was well rehearsed.
She embodied the music, as it carried her.
It mattered not if it was for a single audience.
She cared not if there was no other.
She performed like she might never again,
she inhaled the moment like it was her last.
She sung the song silent like she always would,
she embraced her dance like sail unto mast.
Then the melody slowed,
as the tension in the spring
played itself unwound.
This day for her, had drawn to a close...
But renewed hope for a new one is found.
•••••
He hesitated before resting the lid upon its case.
He caressed his dancer as his eyes start to smart.
His ears would yearn for the song in his head...
He would surely miss the dancer in his heart.
But he knows
when days grow dark
and filled with strife.
The music box lies ready...
And his dancer will again
come to life.*
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.
2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?
3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.
4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.
5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.
6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.
7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.
8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.
9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.
10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.
11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.
12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.
13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.
2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?
3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.
4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.
5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.
6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.
7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.
8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.
9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.
10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.
11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.
12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.
13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
Amazon tribes looked through forested twine
to catch me with sharp sea creature needles
streaming through air currents to soak into my behind
and they brought me back to be one of their people
gold leopard spreads paw fingers to scratch the earth
and green twisted vine latches rock to wood
I have danced with fish among the surf
in mountainous shadows have I stood
weather so damp you breathe inside out
feet have become greedy eyes drinking the ground
salty skin seems to constantly pout
I am technically captive but feeling unwound.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
The drifter in the room is a stranger,
he is crazy, is Bigfoot with deer moccasins on−
monster of condominium rooms and dreams.
The drifter in this room used to be my friend.
He spoke straight sentences, they did not sound like poetry-
reverberated like a narrative, special lines good a few bad,
or stories being unwound by the tongue of a gentleman,
lip service, juggler of simple words to children.
The night is a dark believer in drifters,
they sound sober, affairs with the wind,
the 3 A.M. honking of the Metro trains.
Everything sleeps with a love, a nightmare at night.
The drifter.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
I. Apply foundation in a tone more perfect than the one you're born with,
doubt that there's anything beautiful in the term "natural"
blot your lips with the cherries you deprive yourself of
and wonder, "What good is difference when it's not appreciated?"
stop reading this.
II. Forget how you were born;
every freckle,
every beauty mark,
every uneven line etched into your face are nothing to be celebrated.
Deprecate yourself, you are unwound and beg this world to shape you in its eyes.
skip this line.
Society speaks subjectively of happiness, but fill your head with lies
that we're all pretty if we can keep up our disguise.
The weight of this world upon your shoulders,
alludes to being big as too much to handle.
Curl into everyone's palm as if you're so fragile,
they have to pinch the skin on your bones with the thumb and index finger.
stop.
III. Draw on the perfectly plump pout, filled with nothing but
expectations of everyone else.
Your beauty is not a privilege for anyone,
but judgment that has defined your worth.
skip.
Emprises that market upon your insecurities,
admire that solemn face in the mirror
as the reflection discourages you
at the acknowledgement of any impurities
Start.
How To Be Beautiful Lifelong
Admire the history that lives within the heartlines of your palms,
how strong you've grown, once cradled in your mother's arms.
Disregard where it is you've come from, but how much further you've journeyed forward.
I. Apply the sincerity in your best friend's voice when
she calls the time you've spent together, beautiful.
Do not doubt the splendor that comes from wisdom.
II. Every wrinkle you've earned,
as time gives back to you from lessons learned.
Blot your lips during the release of laughter
as saliva mists through the air,
your joy so vigorous
the ghosts residing in the graves
regret no more.
You are as you should be,
a composite of everything that gives you life
and grants you purpose.
Begging for this world to love you,
there is no fault in this desire.
They speak of happiness as if
it's only a potential-oriented concept,
Do not let your heart surround the gossip
or it's golden armor become bronzed.
III. Draw on the canvas of existence
in the brightest of hues, in the purest of love.
Filled with nothing, but expecations for yourself
say farewell to the darkness
open the curtains to light.
Your beauty is magnificent
as your name will be transcendent.
In each day we decide to be ourselves,
the poise presents itself.
—V.H.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 11:15 AM UTC
Summer’s time has come and gone
The walls, floorboards release a yawn
With nine months then to recoup, recover
From being a home, just for the summer.
Eloquent memories freshly remain
Of friends who nestled within her frame
A cabin of bunk beds, cubbies, fresh air
Where girls unwound with little a care.
Her crevice now holds a left-behind letter
Whose parchment hardens with winter’s weather
Yet the season’s sleet knows the warmer reflection
Of late night secrets and encouraged imperfection.
Spring has sprung most slowly for some
The evergreens exclaim a harmonious hum
Her wooden steps defrost, and patiently await
The coming of campers to the cardinal state.
Fall, winter, and spring all pass
Warm rays have woken the mountains at last
Each cabin’s frame stands taller, *****
While girls, all ages, reconnect.
Anna Blake
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 11:57 AM UTC
*Once Upon a Time
There was a little Wooden Spool of Yarn
Covered in Layers of Coats
Of Soft Protective Yarn
Protecting its insides
Everyone kept telling
The special Ball of Yarn
How pretty its layers were
How its yarn was prettier than
Any other color on the shelf
And if it fell from the shelf
Its pretty coats would protect it
Except one day it fell from the shelf
Hitting other shelves along the way
And the rest of ***** of Yarn spectating
Stared in disbelief
Because the coats of the Pretty Ball of Yarn
Weren't protecting the
It like they had anticipated
In fact
It had begun unravelling
Becoming Undone
It unwound and unwound
Across the concrete Floor
Yarn stretched like
Lines of a ruined and strewn apart coat
Until all that was left of it
Was a little wooden heart
At the center
The other Yarns of Wool
Stared in disbelief
How could this Yarn of Wool
Survive without his coats of Yarn
"He's broken"
They said
But slowly
Over days
His wooden heart began to grow
So strong that he didn't need a coat
He looked up and said
"This whole time I was wrapped in Cotton Wool
Layers of protection and defense
I couldn't touch the rest of the world
And now the excess is gone
All that is left is my heart
And it might be broken
Because I Broke from the Fall
But now I realize I didn't need
The capes and coats and excess
The wool wasn't me
What is me, is what remains
And now I can touch the rest of the universe
Because
"The heart that breaks open is the heart that can contain the universe" (Melton)
The world broke me open
And it hurt
But I don't want to go back
To being sealed shut from the universe
Even if it hurts at first
Its worth breaking to rebuild
So now I my heart is big enough
To contain the universe"*
~JLH
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 12:45 PM UTC
Harbour lights beckoning
Like saintly haloed will-o-wisps
Annointing ocean mists
Jaded haunting memories
Come surging down with tidal force
And flood all other thoughts:
*"Weep not for me o' mistress,
Ever my first love was the sea
And I love her more than thee"*
How oft' those words have plagued me,
How many moons have traced the sky
To fall from high
Reborn to die
And all in vain to answer why
The sea could never save me?
Weary sea-legs greet the dock,
Where once they brought in stoic stance
An end to fair romance
Your eyes were filled with sadness,
Beacons born of hope and kindness
Blinded by my blindness:
*"Weep not for me o' mistress,
Ever my first love was the sea
And I love her more than thee"*
Stumbling blind from shore to lea,
From tavern, inn and hotel bar,
I search afar
Of ev'ry tar
To ask of all oh where you are
But nowhere can I find thee?
A young man needs adventure,
Yet all I learned from years at sea
Was all I missed of thee
Has time unwound the wounding
Of hasty words once said with zest
With pride and puffed-out chest:
*"Weep not for me o' mistress,
Ever my first love was the sea
And I love her more than thee"*
With all hope driven from me,
I watched a sailor paint a tale
To taint me pale
As he regailed
Of maiden fair and love that failed
And torment that befell thee
Panic wove itself a wreath
Around my heart and pulling tight
It dragged me through the night
From town to shore I stumbled
And there upon the jagged rocks
Espied your ebon locks:
*"Weep not for me o' mistress,
Ever my first love was the sea
And I love her more than thee"*
The beauty wrought within thee,
Noble grace and elegant flair
My maiden fair
Beyond compare
With ***** and seaweed in your hair,
What tragedy befell thee?
Translucent as the water,
You turn with sightless eyes to see
And see but thought of me
The sadness and betrayal
Takes harbour in your haunting face
Now anchored in this place:
*"Weep not for me o' mistress,
Ever my first love was the sea
And I love her more than thee"*
Through years that passed unkindly,
For all my sins of jealous pride
The truth I hide
From thee inside,
My heart and soul with thee reside
And I have always loved thee
The sea I loved has taken
The destined time we had to share
And thee in thy despair
Oh love my love forgive me,
Upon the sea I held so dear
To you alone I swear:
*Weep not for me o' mistress,
Ever my first love was the sea
But my heart belonged to thee*
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 4:08 AM UTC
Time is an illusion
A mindless exclusion
The best and the worst
The last and the first
The past was a risk
Does the future exist?
It travels one way
All day
Clockwise
Then comes sunrise
Time and space
An endless race
Seconds go by
But why?
Time will end
Space will bend
Perception unravels
The mind, it travels
The thought it takes
Make no mistakes
A theory until
With adequate skill
Proof is found
The truth, unwound
We now know
How it shall go
Always, forever
Through every endeavor
Time is present
Space is pleasant
A partner, a friend
Joined till the end
(Can it exist?
The thought is dismissed)
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
The smell in the air, Iron, Rusty.
Choppers buzzing.
Neighbors stirred
awkwardly standing
amazed.
Senseless anger unleashed
robbing the day of it's peace.
Red lights flashing,
Screaming,
announcing the horror.
silently escaping
life, reaching.
The tape is unwound
sealing us out.
Innocence forgotten.
A lost dog in the park
looking for his friend
stops.
An empty pair of shoes.
Anxious numbness
is all that remains.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 2:55 PM UTC
the moon was chasing the shadows of the forest,
while the night scurried into the black fields,
placing a small toe into a sorrowful grey cloud
the wind hardly more than a whisper.
and then midnight unwound, blue shadows on grass,
the fields green as dark emeralds,
the clouds dreaming of a soft moon,
and the eye drawn skywards,
filled with forgotten dreams
the wind began to hurry
birds crammed into a bucketful of sky
like flapping pages hinged to a spine.
welcome then to the stomach of night
to moonflower and the bright light that spins
uncovering the stones that lie in the dark moss
revealing the surreal landscape to a broken moon.
welcome then to our love, even more surreal,
as we hold each other close, and shiver like
strange plants wrapped into the black ink of the night
as the world unfolds to kisses and wilderness.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
stem of orchid jewels
hearts white. fronds dangling caressed
clouds obscure. Judas gifts wrap
kitchen. bromeliad pool &
bird chorus, cocteau twins, unwound
clock. himalayan surveyor measures
watercolour, telescopic insight
ginger of blue flowerless season
changing, renewed construction
seeds bloom, a winter pose. house of
possibilities in clear air, away from here
barbeque covered, herbs sprout flavour
zen stone feature a cat’s new bed
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
Forever, I touch the word, running my fingertips
along the coffee table we saved up for. Forever,
I whisper the word to the carpet where you
used to pin me down. Forever, I feel it on my chin,
I take it on the chin. Forever, we'll have sunshine,
little breaks in the fog. Forever, if I can even find you
then. Forever, the joke we said with wine-stained lips
and ash in our mouths. Forever, we dreamed each other
foreign and lived inside. Forever, the muse and never
the poet, the pen and never the paper, the writer and never the
reader. Forever, the way you talked down to me in t-shirts
too large for your shoulder blades. Forever, I take it on the chin.
Forever, the word, I feel it in my neck now. Forever, the affectation
in my voice, do you hear it now? Forever, the seeker in the company
of the sightless. Forever, the weaver. Forever, the weaver threading me into you. Forever, the weaver. Forever, the weaver winding me into you, unwinding me back into myself. Forever, the weaver, the girl on the dance floor, the tower of song, the siren, the sonnet, the beacon, the tower of song, the girl on the dance floor, the weaver, forever.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 1:33 AM UTC
In tandem we took the jump-
Just you and me.
We weren't falling-- we were flying
We were free
Parachutes deployed,
and sailing were we --
somewhere towards the ground.
But an unsound wind whirled around,
and separated you from me.
now alone and unwound
but still sailing, you see.
sailing, searching, hoping foolishly--
while you hurtle farther from me
as not to be found
losing focus. losing hope.
and I can't see.
but you came back - just
to cut the cords of my chute so callously.
now falling,
not flying or sailing - not happy nor free
plummeting down, down, down
and you're nowhere to be found.
alone and falling,
no net to slow me down
no trampoline, no rebound
and you're nowhere to be found.
would that you would catch me,
but you make not a sound
so you leave your mark
a secret blemish --
nowhere to be found
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 7:14 AM UTC
I feel you slipping away my love
when the night is cold and still.
When the years rush in and stand quietly by my bedroom door,
quiet and mute with sorrowful eyes with shoulders drooped in resignation.
I feel you slipping away my love as I sit here.
As the reality glimmers through and shines upon this page,
the silent rage now unspoken for want of reason or assignment.
Broken and wasted like a crystal vase with roses strewn across the floor.
I feel you slipping away my love as I grasp feebly at the strings of the beautiful bouquet
that rises just beyond comprehension and wafts gently on the summer night
to lite tattered and unwilling in far places unseen by our desires.
Embers softly glowing and now knowing the end has now begun.
Years upon years of clawing at our fears that this was not to be.
A blazing fire dowsed with strife and ire ,no air to stoke the flame.
No time to play the game. All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl.
I cry quietly in the glow of poor reason. I feel you slipping away my love.
I feel us slipping away now and forever. The shell does just as well to crumble.
A castaway sits on the sandy shore knowing full well that rescue will find
his molding husk frozen in time and empty in the continuum. His bones bleached past.
The grinning mask of irony and frozen regret.
My love our reach exceeded our grasp but youthful willfulness and hope was the rope.
The rope that we clung to and weathered the battering breezes as we closed our eyes
to reason after all love will find a way ?.Even love was not enough, but we knew deep down.
I feel you slipping now with eyes wide open.
We watch as the chasm widens and shrug our shoulders.
Calloused hands tired of trying now. Weary eyes dry from crying now.
willfully stuck and denying now. I feel you pull away.
I will wonder the desert parched with regret of this I have no doubt.
But deep down I knew this. Hoping against hope. still.
There will be no other to take your place. Who could?.
We gave hope it's chance.
Once we did dance.
Life became duty.
We fought off the wolves.
We turned. We forgot.
We grew apart while joined at the hip.
How funny.
How sad.
Duty bound as love unwound.
No us time.
I feel you slipping, slipping.
Goodbye.
My.
Love.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC
Wishing to fly my kite again...
The secret of it
I gave up on...
the ones we made in school
of paper stuck in trees
Only by the ocean
could I send one to the sky
Tail of yellow streaming
if the wind was right
Tethered to its spool
My sky-dog
on leash of string
released, unwound
my hope
to send it all aloft
with crescent moon
and golden rocket on the blue--
diamond growing ever smaller
into the light of day
Until it stood above for hours
on the gentling winds
a miracle
Lying in the sand below
I dream about it
tail curling in the currents
on this coldest of days
a miracle
still
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 12:07 PM UTC
.
1
In the corner stands
My blue guitar,
Mirrors my grimace.
2
I have played you
So like dream was the dear song
Where you playing me?
3
Your body makes mine
Shudder as I imagine
A woman in my arms.
4
At the top of your body
Are keys unwound at the ready,
Silver spirals of tunings.
5
My soul is near hollow
But the blue guitar
Is filling in the foundations.
6
What makes the blue guitar
So shining in the mundane,
All the world is makeshift.
7
My fingers wet with you,
What water sounds like,
As it kisses the earth.
8
Deep in the strings
I summon my being,
Always blue as sheer sky.
9
Blue guitar, silent, singing,
My fingers ***** your neck,
Never do you scream.
10
Once I heard music,
The sweetest tabulations
Of sorrows in rosewood.
11
My fingers ache on steel,
These are your moved guts,
Strings that I borrow.
12
At an open window,
All the day obtuse,
I hear birds in your vibrations,
Untouched air of blue guitar.
13
I do not know anything,
Music is lathed on an open fret,
The heart is beating to a note of bliss,
Hole set in the body braced by wood,
Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires,
All the chords are listed in primes,
Is the ear a window or is the eye,
Blind in the choral songs we make,
All things are ephemeral, wonderings,
Variations we work as structure fades,
As the blue guitar is touched, turning light.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC